


One Way Ticket

by sexytoaster



Category: IT, IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Blood, F/M, FBI, NSFW, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sorry Not Sorry, clown, here to enable YOUR Pennywise problem, i have a problem and his name is Pennywise, i have no idea what i am doing, my first reader X fanfic, things are gonna get weird, why are you here reading this trash???
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2018-12-31 11:02:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12131040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexytoaster/pseuds/sexytoaster
Summary: Derry, Maine has kept it's dark and sinister secret hidden for far too long. With the Missing Peoples six times higher than the national average, it's time the FBI got involved. They send their top criminal profiler, you, to look into these multiple Missing Peoples reports.You went searching for answers and you got something more than you bargained for. You went to hunt a predator but you've become the hunted. No amount of FBI training could have prepared you for this Hell you are about to experience.





	1. All Aboard

**Author's Note:**

> Hello fellow Pennywise trash! (You wouldn't be here otherwise, lets be honest...) My first x Reader story and I hope you enjoy! The first chapter is set up in a pseudo past tense. The following chapters will be in present tense. It will be mild in the beginning but will become dark and possibly sick (and gross). Please do not read if you will be triggered by non-con and possible "rape". I am not writing this to upset anyone but just really wanted to explore Pennywise who is a twisted character. And don't expect fluff; Pennywise is a monster and will not be suddenly developing a conscience or heart. This is a purely smut/horror/thriller fic! 
> 
> Set in the 1988/89 era.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! I wanna thank fellow authors of other Pennywise/Reader fics because they inspired me!

_Life is good._

 

_You graduated Quantico top of your class. You were to be stationed in Austin, Texas, but the Director in Washington D.C. personally requested you. You would join the Behavioral Science Unit, just like you dreamed of when you were in high school. All those years of arduous work paid off and you finally got to begin your dream life._

 

_You were batting a 1000! Your insight on criminals was like no other which lead to several arrests and convictions of murderers, arsonist, rapists, and drug dealers. It came to you naturally. Your life held adventure and risk but the cases that were placed on your table lacked something. You could never quite put your finger on it until one day you were briefed about a missing child from Derry, Maine._

 

_“Kidnapping, sir?”_

 

_“Perhaps, Agent [y/n]. The mother called and requested FBI intervention.”_

 

_“Well, yes, but do they believe this child crossed state lines?” The look your boss had made you slightly unnerved._

 

_“Not quite. This mother just moved to Derry with her child. They are originally from Arizona. She suspects there is a serial kidnapper and…killer there. The local PD has done nothing and our field office in Maine refuses to look into it as well. I won’t look the other way anymore.” Your boss motioned for you to look at the file again. There you saw several Missing Ads, the faces of happy children printed on them. Your heart sank. Your intuition whispered into your ear to take this case, for no one else would be able to solve it._

_“I---,” you paused and released a sigh. You have never really worked on missing children but there was a time and place for everything. “Yes, sir. I’ll pack my bags tonight.”_

 

_“Agent…keep in constant contact. This whole deal is giving me bad vibes.” You nodded with a half smirk, noting your boss was always protective of you._

 

_It didn’t take long for you to buy a train ticket that brought you to the state of Maine; a place you have never been to nor had any desire to see. Your rental car proved to be fine enough and you made the long drive to the small town of Derry. You had done plenty of research on the long train ride and with every page you turned or photo you pulled up from state and federal records, things were looking a bit too ominous; a bit too…surreal. When you reached the city limits you could feel a strange energy consume you and you suddenly wished you came with a partner._

 

_The town was quiet and at face value came off as friendly and welcoming. But it was in stark contrast with the thriving metropolis of D.C. In fact this town felt archaic; far older than it actually looked. It had been easy enough to remember the street map you were given and so you had found your hotel just fine. Your hotel staff had been polite and kind, offering a hospitality you have only seen in the South. That meaning it felt faked or even forced. The first thing you did when you entered your room was unpack your two federally issued .9mm glocks and several magazines. Once you got everything it place you dove right back into your investigation. Tomorrow you would go to the library to do more research because there was plenty of information you knew you were missing. You had made a mental note to keep your motives silent and you’d find yourself making up a cover to conceal your true identity and reasons._

 

_You went to bed that night and for the first time in a long time you had nightmares that made you wake up in a cold-sweat. Clowns. Why did it have to be clowns? You had hoped this unsettling feeling would dissipate as the sun peaked over the mountains to reveal a new day. You had dressed yourself, badge and gun concealed, and would grab coffee in the hotel lobby before you set out to the library, ignoring the vague image of the clown that slipped into your dreams last night._

 

_"I fucking hate clowns," you had muttered and slipped into you car. You failed to notice an out of place red balloon that revealed itself in your rear-view mirror._

 

 


	2. First Stop...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You shouldn't go down there alone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pennywise: Gaslighting people since the 1600s. 
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and comments! Have another chapter! <3

The library: it stands tall and proud in front of you. Its Romanesque columns remind you of familiar buildings in DC and it offers a semblance of normality as you walk up the stairs that are in desperate need of renovation. You enter the building, removing your sunglasses, and make your way to the help desk where an old, overweight woman is reading the most recent Romance novel.

 

“Excuse me…Yes, hello. How are you,” you ask the rhetorical question out of curtesy but you really could not care less about how this woman feels. “Where can I find your towns archive?”

 

This woman lowers her book and looks up with little interest. An annoyed sigh leaves her thin, pursed lips and she gives a concise answer. “Downstairs, to the left.”

 

Your brows involuntarily lift to her brash behavior but know it is for the best that she has little to no interest in why you are here.

 

You spoke too soon. The moment you walk passed her you hear her call out.

 

“Who are you and why do you need the towns archives? You’re not from here.”

 

“Uhm…,” you pause and look over your shoulder. You stop short of answering her when you spot a lone red balloon floating right next to this woman and you lift a hand, pointing to it with a confused expression upon both of your faces.

 

“Well? Ya gonna answer or what?”

 

Your brows furrow. She clearly can’t see what you are and you feel your heart rate increase ever so slightly. You clear your throat, figuring you didn’t get enough sleep the night prior. You offer a bullshit answer, counting on the country bumpkin stereotype of being ignorant about anything and everything.

 

“I’m with the Smithsonian and we are doing a project about local histories and weaving them into the History of America.”

 

“Alright. Oh, the lights are a bit fickle down there. Be sure to grab a lantern or flashlight. They are by the door in the basement.”

 

“Thanks….” At that you make your way down the stairs, noting how loud they creak beneath your weight and wonder if this whole town is falling apart. By the time you get to the basement you can see the problem the librarian was talking about. An annoyed sigh slips past your lips with a roll of your eyes. You mentally think about how lucky you are that you aren’t epileptic. Your eyes look to the side and instantly find the flashlights and camping lanterns. You grab one of each and begin your journey down the many aisles, accustoming yourself with the filing system.

 

Blueprints, newspapers, negatives: you gather everything you think will help your investigation before you attempt to interview the mother who contacted the D.C. office. As your eyes scan your last shelf, the lights flicker a few times before completely going out. A mumbled curse word leaves your mouth and you regret leaving both light sources on the table you plan to work at. It’s eerily quiet while you make your way back to your desk with the little light that is bleeding into the large room from the staircase that is your only exit.

 

_“Agent….”_

 

Your heart skips a beat and your eyes grow wide. The voice is clear as day and it causes you to turn around a bit too quickly, a few items falling to the ground. Your eyes strain to see a body that belongs to that voice but there is nothing. For a moment you do not move until reasoning and logic kick in, reminding you that it is just your imagination.

 

You gulp down and collect yourself before you gatherthe items you dropped. As you turn around to walk back to the desk you hear it once more after you place your research down. With a quick reach, you grab the flashlight and your other hand grabs the gun from your purse. You frantically look around for any semblance of another person, but the light falls on only shelves and littered chairs.

 

“What the hell…,” you say out loud to yourself as you lower your weapon but keep the light up for a few more moments. After reassuring yourself that it is nothing you finally sit down and begin your research, thanking your FBI training that helped calm you down.

 

**Tic-tock, tic-tock, tic-tock.**

 

The hours passed you with no incident as you slaved away over plenty of information that was both helpful and extremely unhelpful. Your eyes are growing tried and you are growing hungry. You sit back in your chair and look at the watch for the time. “Lunch break,” you say to yourself as you rise from your seat. However, when you reach for your purse you notice a large book you did not pick out; or at least you could not recall picking it up. You shine the flashlight on it, illuminating the script that read: _“Derry, Maine: A Detailed History.”_

 

Your curiosity gets the better of you and you flip through the book. Images of parades, community gatherings, building christenings, and happy people greet your eyes and you subconsciously smile to the pictures. Yet, your smile disappears just as quickly when suddenly every page you turn informs you of a great tragedy. Such loss of life for such a small town, you think and continue to flip through the pages. With the next page you turn you are suddenly greeted with an old photo of a clown holding balloons. The moment you shine the light on it to get a better look your eyes grow wide and you involuntarily shove the book away from you as you take a step back. It was the same clown you saw in your nightmare and you begin to feel heart palpitations.

 

“Don’t I look good for my age?” An unknown voice breaks the silence, causing you to jump in surprise. You whip your head up and shine your light in front of you to see the very clown that resided in that book.

 

“Oh, dear GOD!” You say under your breath in disbelief, quickly pawing at your side where your holster for your gun would normally be. Nothing. Your eyes dart down to your thigh and then to the desk where your glock rests. How quick do you think you are?

 

“Almost but no cigar,” the clown responds to your God statement followed by an unusual giggle that only amplifies the fear that is now stream lining through veins and to your heart. Who was this sick fuck? What kind of practical joke was this?

 

“You have two seconds to back up. Pranks like this get jackasses like you killed.” Your voice is steady and authoritative thanks to your training but you must continue and swallow your fear that keeps creeping up from your stomach.

 

“Pranks? Oh, I do love a good prank.” The grin that spreads across his pale features cause your brows to furrow in doubt and concern. _‘That’s some damn good makeup…’._  The clown then stands tall before giving an exaggerated bow but says nothing. You take this opportunity and lunge for your weapon. Once you grab it you aim it at this sick son of a bit--- he is gone. You shine your light to your left and right. He isn’t there.

 

Gulping down you decide to leave. There is no valid reason for staying and trying to find whoever was messing with you. You grab your purse and the book and dash out of the basement, your long legs skipping two steps at a time as you retreat into the light. Never have you felt such relief to see sunlight and you feel your heart rate going down.

 

“Is it common for people to dress up like clowns and scare out of towners,” you ask angrily at the librarian who you talked to earlier. The look she gives you suddenly makes you question your own sanity. Was it a dream? Did you fall asleep and have another nightmare? You run a hand through your hair and apologize before checking out the book. You want to get the hell out of this place and you do.

 

Knowing you must eat you decide to pick up something quick before you make a stop to see the woman originally from Arizona. The entire drive you find yourself having a battle with your sanity and logic. It felt so real…it had to be real….right? Your imagination isn’t that active. At a light, you reluctantly pick up the book and skim through it, searching for the page with the picture of that damn creepy clown but it can’t be found.

 

“It must have been a dream…,” you say to yourself with a sigh. You need rest but you’re not one to stop and take a nap. Criminals can’t be caught if one rests. The wicked does not sleep and neither can you. With your little pep talk you step on the gas and make your way to this woman’s house; hopefully she can offer some insight.


	3. Second Stop...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your sanity is unraveling; your ability to make the right decision is at risk. Shall you stay or run away?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for kudos and comments! Have another chapter for being such good little kiddies!

Mrs. Garcia’s house: it’s a simple two story Victorian that matches many of the others you have seen driving down the streets of Derry. However, once you park, you notice a derelict house a few blocks down, standing tall and foreboding on the corner. A shiver runs down your spine so you tear your gaze from it and exit your vehicle.

 

Before you reach the steps that lead to the front door, a restless woman walks out and greets you half way. She looks terrible. As she should, you chime to yourself. Her daughter has been missing for weeks now and you know the sad fact of reality that after 48 hours of a child going missing they are more likely to turn up dead than alive. You shove the negativity away and extend your hand out to greet hers.

 

“Agent [y/n], I’m guessing…,” her voice is soft and meek.

 

“Yes ma’am. From Quantico. I’m here to investigate your case.”

 

“Thank you. Thank you, Agent [y/n].” She remarks with tears swelling in her eyes. “You have given me hope.” At that she quickly wraps hers arms around you in a hug of gratitude. You become rigid for a moment to the action but offer her a hug but it is out of pity and some hidden guilt; a guilt that has been lingering in the bottom of your heart that hisses discouraging words. _‘It’s all on you, [y/n]. You must save these children. You must catch this predator. Failure is not an option.’_

 

“Please. Come in,” she says and retreats back into her home where you follow behind her. You take note of the state the house is in. The furniture is covered in both dirty and clean clothes, some dirty dished littered here and there, dust on many appliances. Her grief and depression is obvious. She offers you some coffee and you gladly take it. When she disappeared into the kitchen you look around to find a spot to sit in the living room.

 

As you search for a spot you look off to your left and see another room that appears to be a study of some sort. You stick your head in and your brows furrow to the sight. Newspaper clippings from both past and present are posted on each wall with red and blue strings linking articles to people. Your eyes lock onto the center Missing Person poster: it’s her daughter, Julia Garcia. She has a bright smile that makes her eyes shine even though metal braces decorate her teeth.

 

“I’ve been doing my own investigation since the police aren’t doing anything,” you hear behind you and twitch to the surprise.

 

You turn around and she hands you the coffee. “Thank you. I apologize for snooping.”

 

“You’re an Agent. It’s expected.” She offers a sad smile which makes you wonder if this is the first time she has smiled since her child went missing. Mrs. Garcia turns on her heel and walks back to the living room, knowing you will follow. The moment you are seated she apologizes for the mess but you tell her not to worry and take a gulp of the coffee. It’s bland, watered down. But, hell, it will still do well to wake you up a bit.

 

“May I ask where the father is?”

 

“Car accident. A drunk driver hit him when he was coming home after work. It was devastating for both my daughter and I but it was worse for my sweet Julia. I knew we would have to move for her to heal…for us to heal. I got a wonderful job offer as a nurse here. Derry was too good to be true.” She pauses and tears roll down her face. “I should never have moved to this cursed place.”

 

The atmosphere shifts in the dimly lit, dust ridden room and you begin to feel rather uncomfortable. You don’t know how to handle grieving family members; not like this when they start sobbing in front of you. That wasn’t you job. Hunting and capturing criminals was your job description. Not therapist. Your eyes look down at the coffee in your mug before you lean over and place your hand upon her shoulder to offer some condolences.

 

“This isn’t your fault. I know it’s hard to accept that this is out of your control but you must. I am here and I will do my best to find your daughter and the other missing children. You have my word.”

 

Mrs. Garcia looks up and gives a small nod before grabbing a few tissues and blows her nose. She begins to tell you what happened and when. Her account is detailed and offers much insight to you. You have your recorder out and you are scribbling down notes on your notepad so you will be able to go over them later tonight when you are back at your hotel. After an hour she points behind you, back into the room where she has been working day and night.

 

“You may take whatever you need for your case. I hope it can help. Let me get you another cup of coffee.”

 

“May I have a glass of water instead, please?” You ask as you stand and make your way back to the room. The woman disappears once more and you take out your camera where you begin snapping shots of each wall.

**Click.**

**Click.**

**Click.**

Mrs. Garcia hands you the water and you offer your thanks. Before you take a sip the doorbell chimes and the woman excuses herself, leaving you alone in the room. Placing the water down, you continue to take multiple pictures just in case; you especially want to focus on certain aspects over the others. The unnerving house you saw moments before is upon the wall and so you take pictures of it and the surrounding text.

**Click.**

**Click.**

**Click.**

A small sigh rolls over your lips as you grab your class of water. You don’t take a sip yet but instead find yourself drawn to a paper that is covered by an article. With cautious actions you reach out and lift it up slowly.

 

Nothing. A blank piece of paper. You shrug and finally take a sip of your water. The second it touches your tongue you spit it out completely and look disgusted. Your glass is full of blood. With frantic motions you continue to spit out as much blood as you can, your hands beginning to tremble and your stomach begins to gurgle. Wiping the blood spatter from your mouth you rush to find a bathroom to rinse out the blood.

 

Once you find a bathroom you quickly investigate yourself in the mirror and your face drops: there is no blood anywhere. You look down at your hands and they, too, are free from the crimson liquid. When you look back into the mirror you stare at your reflection and curse yourself for whatever this bullshit is. With a few deep breaths, you calm yourself down and turn on the faucet, collecting a small handful of water and splashing your face with the chilled water in hopes this would wash away your insanity.

 

With blind actions, you reach out for the towel that resides across from the toilet and next to the shower. Once you feel the fabric in your hands you bury your face in it only to furrow your brows. You give a light sniff and then another. It smells horrible. God, this woman really was depressed, you think to yourself and lift your head. Your heart stops to the sight and you stumble back with wide eyes.

 

“Hello copper!” The clown is standing mere feet from you, towering over your small frame and he is even more terrifying in the light. You close your eyes and pray to God that when you open them he will not be there. Wrong. He is now closer to you and you cannot stifle the scream that leaves your mouth. You never scream. You. Never. Scream.

 

“Shhhh,” he whispers with his gloved index finger pressed against his red-stained lips before they curl into a twisted grin. “She will hear us.”

 

Nope. Fuck this. You muster the courage to give him a shove with all your might and as he stumbles back you bolt out of that bathroom, snatching up your purse and apologizing to Mrs. Garcia as you exit her house with no explanation. You need to get the hell out of here. You’re in the third gear by the time you pass three houses.

 

When you look in your rear-view mirror you see Mrs. Garcia rushing to the road with a baffled expression upon her face. But you barely notice her. You see this clown standing next to her, waving at your retreating car, balloons in the other hand. The mother doesn't seem to notice this terrifying clown standing mere inches from her. 

 

“WHAT THE FUCK.” You shout and take a sharp turn causing the car to drift; catching the attention of the local kids who all rushed and cheered to the sight of a sedan acting as a race car. You are shaking but it is not because you almost lost control of the car. You screech to a stop to collect yourself before you do get in an accident. 

 

“What is going on here?!” You blurt out to the steering wheel you are gripping madly. You give it a shake out of sheer frustration before something told you to look to your right. Slowly you turn to the direction the universe is guiding you to and your gaze falls on the derelict building that send shivers down your spine. It had the same affect but the shivers were now filled with a ball of anxiety that churns in your stomach. Everything is telling you to drive away; leave this place. But there is a nagging feeling to stay. Stay and help these poor parents. 

 

What are you going to do? 


	4. Third Stop....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The information is all there but you still need to connect all the dots. Will you find answers or will Pennywise meddle with both your progress and your sanity? How strong can you remain? Do not break, Agent. You've come too far to crumble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys and gals are great! Thank you so much for the kudos and comments! I can't express how much it means to me! I know this is a slow build but trust me, it will be worth it! 
> 
> PS  
> There will be blood and drool in the near future!

Your eyes close as you press your forehead against the steering wheel in an attempt to calm your racing heart and mind. You’ve never been one to scare easily and you took pride in this strength you possessed but this town and this case was proving to challenge this attribute. If you are going to continue you know you will need to collect yourself; you know you need to lose yourself in your research. At that you lift your head up and open your eyes, ignoring the neighborhood kids who keep calling out for you to drift again.

 

You are sure to keep your gaze off the house that projects an uneasy feeling where it begins in your stomach and crawls up your chest until it gnaws at your mind. A scoff leaves your nose as you pass this house and you make your way to the closest store that can develop your film.

 

Once you find this shop, you chat with the man who oversees the darkroom. He seems friendly enough and you ask if there is any way to expedite your film as well as possibly getting it delivered to your hotel room. He hesitates for a moment until you reach in your purse, retrieving a good chuck of cash and place it on the counter. The man instantly agrees and takes the cash. You write down your alias and hotel room number.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“No, thank you!” He remarks with a pleased smile, bidding you a good-bye and states he should have your film in a couple of hours.

 

Before you leave you gather a few necessities that include a multitude of snacks, a bottle of Excedrin migraine medication, and a few cans of soda. You pause and turn back to the aisle of medications and grab a bottle of sleeping pills with the hope they will keep you from having anymore nightmares.

 

\----------------------------------------------

 

_Rap,rap,rap,rap._

 

Your fingers tap lightly against the table you are working on. You are surrounded by papers, blueprints, flyers, newspaper clippings, and books. The notes you have are both pivotal and nonsensical. The first thing that needs to be done when hunting a criminal is finding their MO and their signatures: a pattern. Unfortunately, there isn’t much to work with to find such things when no bodies have been discovered. The only thing you note is a pattern in the disappearances: they happen in 27 year intervals.

 

“Copy-cats. That is the only answer.” You say out loud to yourself and grab your migraine medication, popping two and taking a swig of your soda. With a tired sigh, you lean back into your chair as you try and make sense of this all. There was something else you picked up on and that was the disappearances both began and ended in a great tragedy. Spouses murdering their whole families and then killing themselves, the great explosion that killed so many children, KKK members burning African Americans alive, etc.

 

Your brows knit together when a thought comes to your mind. Standing, you grab the blueprints of the city from different eras and splay them out on the floor. It took nearly an hour to mark where each child, teen, and adult went missing over the years. “What is the pattern…what is it…come on, think [y/n]! Think!” Tired eyes strain as you stare at the maps, still trying to find a pattern. Criminals always have a pattern.

 

It suddenly hit you. They all are associated with a location by a water source.

 

“That’s it!” A small smile of victory tugs at your lips but it drops when there is a knock at the door. ‘Aw, my pictures!’ You grab your gun and put it behind your back into your waistband. (You can’t be too cautious, you always say.) It was always an agent habit of yours.

 

“You the lady who asked for the photos to be delivered?” An acne-covered teen asks, holding a single pack.

 

“Yes. Thank you.”

 

He smiles and says thanks with conviction when you tip him but you have little time to give this kid anymore of your time. Once the door is shut you quickly open the envelope that contains the photos. However, when you take the pile out your brows knit together. The first couple of photos are black. Pure black. Did the tech over develop your photos? Annoyance and anger begin to bubble to the surface with every photo you reveal and toss to the ground.

 

“I swear to---,” you cut yourself short when a picture of a photograph you know you did not take. It was the disturbing house that should have been demolished years ago. Your heart skips a beat with every picture you flip to and discard. They are now all of the house until you reach one that reveals the actual address that reads: 29 Neibolt Street.

 

“Nothing is making sense…,” you whisper to yourself and walk on over to the multiple maps of the city that litter the floor. You plop down next to them in a small sigh of defeat. Never have you felt so lost with a case; never have you felt lost at sea. Why? Why was everything shrouded in mystery in this town? Why are you experiencing hallucinations? That’s what they were…there was no way any of this was true. You can’t wrap your mind around it anymore. You just can’t without the fear of losing your sanity all together. Or worse: failing to find whoever was kidnapping children, teens, and adults. Your biggest fear is just that, failing to find the truth and failing to keep the innocent safe.

 

Stop. You need to turn your mind off and you need rest. When you look at your watch you notice the time and decide to pop a few sleeping pills before you continue to organize your notes while seated on the floor. However, you fail to anticipate how quick the drugs took effect. Your eyes begin to flutter, attempting to close completely and allow your brain to turn off for the night. With a big yawn, you reach across to place the pictures of the house in accordance to the location on the maps but that is when your mind relays the message of lay down and rest your weary head. And before you know it, you are fast asleep on the floor with the maps and papers beneath you.

 

 

_Do you dream much, Agent [y/n]……_


	5. Fourth Stop...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are not what they appear...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you all for the support! I really hope you are enjoying this fic because I love writing it!

 

Warm rays of light shine down upon you, caressing your soft flesh with a pleasant wake-up call. “Good morning,” it whispers and your eyes flutter open to a blue sky above. A gentle breeze caresses your face as you sit up and you note you are in a field of summer long grass you remember from your childhood. The grass sways with the lovely breeze and it brings a warm smile to your face: you feel at peace. When you look around you only see endless fields that gradually fade into a wooded thicket that beckons you to wander on in.

 

You obey this unseen suggestion, lifting yourself up from the cushioned ground with ease. With every step you take through the long grass your hands run along the feather-like tips, enjoying the sensation upon your palms.

 

“Darling…,” the whispered voice is familiar; it sounds like home. You continue your journey into the forests, following the voice that summons you.

 

“I’m over here, my sweet….”

 

With a smile upon your face you leave the fields of sweet summer into a thick forest of autumn. You hear your name and continue to search for the person it belongs to. Bright eyes search around as fall leaves crunch beneath your feet.

 

“There you are…I’ve been looking for you.”

 

Your smile grows. It is your boss. The man you fell in love with years ago. Your heart swells with emotion and aches with love for him. He stands taller than you remember and his arms are held open. He begs for you to embrace him; for he has missed you so. You oblige and rush into his arms in a warm embrace. You feel at home.

 

Burying your face into his collared shirt, you inhale deeply and a flood of memories rush through your mind with the scent of his cologne. You never want to let go. 

 

“I’ve missed you,” he states as he runs a large hand through your hair.

 

You reply in kind, keeping your face pressed against his chest. You’ve never felt this happy before. For so long you have pined after this married man. You cursed your heart for falling in love with him but now he was here, proclaiming his own love for you. Oh, how happy you are. It is bliss.

 

His hand runs over your hair before running it along your jaw until it cups beneath your chin, guiding your head to look up at him. Your eyes shine with affection and he closes the distance between you two. Your lips meet and you feel euphoric. The kiss deepens and you hold onto him because you swear you are beginning to float away.

 

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips before you continue to kiss him.

 

However, as the kiss deepens you feel his grip on you tighten to the point it begins to hurt. Your brows knit together to the sensation of an overflow of saliva that flows from his lips onto yours where it drips down your chin. As you pull away you find that this is not your boss; this is not the man you love. It’s the clown that has been haunting you since the moment you arrived in this cursed town.

 

The clown stares down at you with an extremely pleased expression upon his horrid visage; his grin demonic as his eyes flash with the fires of Hell. You pull away from his grip and run. You run as fast as you can through the throngs of trees that seem to come to life; their dead, gnarled branches reaching out in an attempt to grab your fleeing form. They claw at your clothes and flesh, easily creating gashes from which you bleed from.

 

You keep running, though. You keep running and never look back in fear that this thing is chasing you. But the forest becomes darker with an unseen force. It’s getting hard to see and it causes you to trip over a fallen tree. Your body comes crashing down and you hit the ground hard, knocking the air out of you. You gasp for air as you roll over onto your back, holding what feels to be a broken wrist to your chest.

 

You have no time to react. This  _thing_ …this  **clown** …this  _ **monster**_  is atop you, laughing manically. You scream out of sheer fear and his laugh only grows louder; as loud as thunder.

 

“Gimme another kiss, Blue Blood!” At that he lowers his head back down, drool oozing from his disgusting mouth where it spills onto your face. You throw your hands out, pressing them against his frill-clothed chest and scream at the top of your lungs when his teeth suddenly become serrated.

 

You’re screaming and he is laughing. You scream so loud and struggle with all your might to prevent him from eating your face.

 

**“NO!! NO!”**

Your eyes snap open and you shoot up from your nightmare, screaming. It takes you a few moments for your screaming to subside when you realize it was just that: a horrible nightmare. Your screams fade into a quiet cry. Your body shakes with the aftermath of your ordeal and tears roll down your cheeks. It was so real. It felt real.

 

It takes several minutes to collect yourself before you can do anything. How are you going to continue this case when the universe was fucking with your mind? You finally pull yourself up from the ground and leave the maps and papers on the there. Maybe a shower will help ease your mind.

 

  
“Please…,” you whisper to yourself as you step into the shower. “Please get me through this,” you pray to whatever God will listen. There are missing children out there that need you. You are their savoir and you cannot fail them. You can’t fail them…


	6. Transfer Station

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no turning back now: Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here.
> 
> You're making all the wrong decisions for all the right reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! Thank you all for supporting me and this trash fic! I apologize I made you wait so long for this chapter, please forgive me! Enjoy because it's only gonna get worse from here on out.

Your shower was several hours long; you had found solace in the hot water raining down upon your head and body, as if it were washing away the insanity that stained your ego. The steam cleared your mind and the hot water cleaned your body. You now felt human again and you could tend to your investigation with more confidence.

 

With muted actions, you button up your collared shirt as your tired eyes fixate on the photos of the house that embodies everything that is deterioration and decay. You feel a pull, a hook pierced onto your mind, tugging at your curiosity. _‘The answers you seek are here, [y/n].’_ You bend over to pick up one of the pictures you have been focusing on. _‘The kids are here. Save them, [y/n].’_

 

Your reason and logic have been compromised and your mind fails to recognize that these suggestions are not coming from your intuition but are coming from the house itself. With eyes fixated on the picture, your head nods in agreement to this outside force affecting your decisions. You fold the picture and put it in your back pocket before leaving the hotel room forgetting something extremely important.

 

It doesn’t take you long to arrive outside the blackened house and you stare at the building with an anxiety that you did not know existed till now. You take in a deep breath and close your eyes. Your mind begins to whisper words of encouragement to you: _‘You’ve hunted monsters for so long. You have fought them and won. You must push aside your fear. Lives are on the line, Agent.’_

 

You finally reach the steps that lead into the house but you stop short of the front door that is ajar. Battling actions plead with you:  

 

_‘Go in. Save the children. They need you.’_

_‘Run. Run far away from here and never return.’_

 

“I can’t…I can’t abandon these children. Not like how everyone else did. They need me,” you whisper to the energies that are battling each other for your decision.

 

From an outsider’s point of view, you look…lost. You look lost and out of place as you stand still in front of the deteriorating home. You can almost be mistaken for a statute. However, the streets around you appear to be desolate; the only company you have in a light breeze that dances with the weeds and grass.

 

Time seems to stand still before you muster the courage to continue and you slowly push open the creaking door. Your motivation is the children and so you put aside your lingering fear and begin to roam the unnerving house; a small flashlight in one hand and your gun in another. You take hesitant steps into the hallway, noting the banality of the abandoned home but the continual feeling of being watched remains with you. The floorboards creaks beneath your weight with each step as you keep repeating to yourself to keep it cool, do not let your imagination get the better of you, there is no such thing as the boogie man.

 

**BANG!**

 

You jump to the loud sound of something falling to the floor above you and point your gun in the direction. A frustrated sigh slips passed your lips before you continue to look in each room, finding nothing of importance, just destroyed furniture and remnants from the homeless and the drug addicts.

 

The sudden feeling of disappointment begins to bubble to the surface as you realize this has been pointless from the get-go. You lower your weapon and flashlight, putting them away as you remark how foolish you were.

 

“Waste of time…get it together, [y/n]. What are you thinking: children locked away in an abandoned home?” You shake your head and sigh once more before running your hands through your hair. “What is going on with me…,” you ask aloud to no one, wishing someone, anyone, would provide an answer. You’ve been given cases that were committed by the most heinous criminals; men who committed such atrocities that it would make the devil weep. So why were you losing it? Why was this trying your mind and sanity? Why? What was causing this fear?

 

_Fear…_

 

A chill runs up your spine and you shiver involuntarily. There is a sudden change in energy and the fear you shoved down has emerged from its dormancy. The hair on the back of your neck rises and your heart beat picks up in pace when you hear that godforsaken giggle.

 

‘No….no. It’s not real.’ Your head shakes in an effort to rid your ears of that giggle that seems to be coming from every room. It’s getting louder and closer; it is closing in on you. It’s time to get out of this hell house and you bolt from the kitchen. However, the moment you reach the kitchen you hear a child cry out for help and her fearful screams ring in your ear.

 

“Someone help me! Please! I am so scared! I want my mommy!”

 

Your body comes to a halt when the dining room table dissipates your speed.

 

“Where are you?!” You call out as you reach for your gun.

 

“I’m in the basement,” the little voice cries out, telling you to hurry.

 

It doesn’t take long for you to find the entrance that leads down into the basement but you nearly kill yourself when the rotting woods crumbles beneath your feet. Luckily you are quick to grab the railing and prevent yourself from falling several feet. Your heart is racing as you take out your flashlight and analyze the constitution of the stairs before maneuvering down them.

 

“Julia, is that you?” Careful steps, now, you can’t fall and break your neck. “Julia, is that you?” You repeat and receive an answer in kind.

 

“Yes! Please help me!”

 

“I’m coming!

 

You finally make it to the bottom; the smell of rot and mildew greet your nose, nearly making you gag. None of it matters though. Not when you are so close to rescuing poor Julia. That is when your flashlight scans the large and disgusting basement but your light only illuminates desecrated items that belong to the house and its previous owners.

 

When your light falls upon a misplaced well made of stone, your mind is instantly confused by it. With caution you approach it, silently praying the child will both be in it and out. With tepid steps you approach the well, calling out the girl’s name but you hear no response. Once you make it to this archaic-looking well you lean over the brim and shine your light down: you can’t see the bottom, it appears to be an endless crevasse that will take you directly to hell.  

  

“Help me, help me! Please!” The clown calls out behind you in the little girl’s voice before it transforms into his demonic chuckle.

 

The moment you hear that shrill and inhuman voice, your body jumps out of fright and the flashlight slips from your hand to be lost forever. There’s little to no light where you are but you can both smell and hear this clown’s presence. _‘You’re not real, you’re not real, you’re not real,’_ you keep repeating under your breath but instead of silence for a response you hear a giggle of amusement.

 

“I’m not real? I’m not real??” His brows furrow and his grin twists into a feigned frown. “I was _real_ enough for little Julia,” his grin returns as he reaches out to grab you. "Let me show you how _real_ I can be!"

 

Will you fight or run away? You’re in his realm now and all is fair in love and war and apparently for cannibalistic demonic clownery.

 

What are you going to do, Agent? What are you going to do…


	7. We Have a Delay...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't give up. You need to fight. You need to fight to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all those who are commenting and giving me delish kudos! Hope I am giving you what you want! Next chapter will be far more graphic than the other ones, so stay tuned!

Your instincts kick in and hopefully your training with the Academy will prove to be successful. When he lunges towards you, you are quick to retrieve your gun and pistol whip him; HARD. This thing stumbles back but appears to be rather unfazed. You should feel grateful that you prevented him from grabbing you but it unfortunately confirmed that he was indeed real. The clown gave a crack to his neck, bringing his gloved hand to his jaw and pops it back into his socket like it was removing a splinter from a finger. With a growl, he lunges at you once more but you take no hesitation pulling the trigger, shooting him just above the right eyebrow. 

 

With a loud thud the clown falls to the ground like a sack of potatoes and your ears ring from the gunshot. There is a pause before you run off and contemplate inspecting whether he was truly dead. (It’s basic protocol when it came to shooting and catching criminals.)

 

‘Get out, now! You may not get another chance,’ your logic and reasoning speaks up, insisting you should throw protocol out the window. 

 

When you jumped over his “lifeless” body your feet land in a pool of his blood, staining your shoes. Unfazed by the sight, you bolt for the stairs, holding onto the railing, knowing they could crumble at any point and send you to your death. Just as you take the last step onto a solid foundation the stairs collapse behind you. You can hear your heart pounding so hard that it begins to sound like war drums multiplying in this Hell. 

 

However, once you emerge from the basement, the room you are in is not the same as the one you left prior. In fact, it all looks different; an entirely different lay out but it was still in a desperate state of repair. As you continue through the rooms and hallways you begin to feel a sense of familiarity with every passing second. It becomes clear why it feels familiar: this is your old childhood house. With wide eyes and your attention set to hyper vigilant, you notice the frames with a layer of dust and grime contain photographs of you and your family. 

 

It’s unnerving to see your loved ones smiling back at you and it causes you to let out an agitated scream when fresh blood begins to bleed from the eyes and the flow increases as it runs down the walls. In your anger and desperation, you begin to tear down the frames and throw them on the ground where the glass shatters. It offers little consolation but rather did what it was supposed to do and act as a distraction. 

 

You are already disoriented with the house changing its layout, your heart pounding against your chest, and your ears still ringing from the gun going off indoors. The broken glass crunches beneath your shoes as you begin to search for a way out; your memory is trying to help you gain your bearings so you can find the front door. 

 

But every door you open leads to nowhere and your panic is rising. In any other situation, you wouldn’t be so scared. You would know a head-shot would prevent any perpetrator from being able to peruse you but in the back of your mind you know that damned clown is not dead and your time is numbered. The next few doors you try are all locked and you rattle the doorknob on each one, cursing under your breath. There is no use wasting time on these doors and you are relieved when you rush down the corridor to find an adjacent room that will lead to the front door. You quickly dart through the room and praise God. 

 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you---,” your heart sinks and your brows knit together when you get to the door and it does not open. “No. No, no, no! NO!” You scream out loud and begin to slam your shoulder against it in an attempt to break it open. You’ve done it a hundred of times before but with each slam against the door you feel like there is a steel bar preventing it from budging. “NO!” Tears begin to escape your eyes but you continue anything you can. 

 

Retrieving your gun, you take a step back and shoot the lock four times in a row. It worked! The door slowly creaks opens only to reveal the tall clown standing in the doorway, blocking you from freedom, from life. Your training tells you to fire and you do. You don’t hesitate to unload your clip into this fucker. With each bullet that hits him, he shifts back an inch but instead of revealing the day behind him there is only darkness. This isn’t an exit as you previously thought. The windows that share the same wall had lied to you. They showed the street that was illuminated by the sun’s rays. But…that isn’t the case anymore. There are only the fires of hell that rage behind the windows and an overwhelmingly amount of dread settles heavily upon you. 

 

Pennywise stares at you with those intense amber eyes that glow with a light that is almost hypnotizing. He is not grinning, he is not smiling, he is not a happy clown. You notice there are no bullet holes in his head or chest. In fact, there is no semblance you ever hit him with your gun. 

 

“You’re starting to spoil,” he finally speaks and takes a step closer. “I don’t like spoiled food.” You have no idea what he is talking about but you know it means he wishes to eat you; to feast upon your flesh. Your eyes grow wide in terror when you notice his fingers begin to elongate and claws rip through his white gloves. Your mind relays to your legs to run and Pennywise lashes a clawed hand at you but you manage to dodge it. He growls and looks over his shoulder to watch you run away upstairs. He can’t help but chuckle to your choice and mocks your fear by shouting out, “5, 4, 3, 2, 1! Ready or not! Here I come, girlie!”


	8. Back on Track

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How much can both your mind and body take? They never trained you in these matters. They never trained you to withstand a brutal siege upon your sanity and your body. Can you survive this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's gonna get gross real quick. Hope you all are ready!   
> Please comment if ya like where it's going/want more blood and drool, please! :)

Your heart is pounding against your cage of bone, pleading for mercy as your mind releases dose after dose of adrenaline to keep you alive. The door you slammed behind you gives you a false hope that it will offer some sort of barricade to keep that… _thing_ …that… ** _monster_** away. Shaky hands find a closet door that you tear open and lose yourself among moth-eaten and dust-covered clothes. Your fear is palpable and you know the universe is mocking you; with every grain of fear that grows is outweighing your chances of survival. The scales of Life and Death are becoming extremely off scale. This beast feeds off this energy you can’t control and you beg whatever God that will listen to save you from this living Hell.

 

‘ _Pleasepleaseplease OH GOD PLEASE HELP ME_ ,’ your mind screams as your hands cover your mouth to contain your ragged breathing; hot tears escaping past tightly closed eyes. Your body trembles and you swear you will crumble like autumn leaves from a tree.

 

Bang.

BANG.

**_BANG._ **

****

Your body involuntarily flinches with every bang that grows louder each time. Your eyes snap open when you hear that _laugh_ ….that eerily human laugh that has been haunting your dreams. The wall you are pressed against will not budge no matter how hard you press or how hard you believe divine intervention will take place.

 

The door that you had such faith in creaks open and a terrified squeak slips past your lips, betraying you and giving away your location. War movies come to mind and you suddenly wish you had joined the military, sent to Iraq where you bake under the sun, fighting an enemy that pales in comparison to this thing that is hunting you. A bullet to the chest would be better than this.

 

A few moments pass but the silence feels infinite and you wonder if **_It_** has left the room. You lower your trembling hands and with wide, terrified eyes you shift your body to the side ever so slightly to see passed the hanging clothes, peaking through broken wooden flanks to see an empty room. And for a moment you truly feel what Hope is. That is until in a flash the room grows dark and suddenly a pair of glowing amber eyes lock with yours. The scream that leaves your body is shrill and damaging, causing you to nearly lose your voice.

 

In the midst of panic you fall back into the closet, disappearing behind the clothes but instead of your back greeting a solid wall you find yourself still falling. Your arms reach out for anything to grab and save you from this free fall but your hands grab only air. You close your eyes tight as your body grows ridged as you anticipate a hard floor you will soon contact. But…it never comes. Instead you find yourself contacting something that is soft and cushions your fall.

 

Your mouth opens to scream but all that comes out is a raspy gasp for air. After a moment of you struggling to sit up on the object you fell on, more tears spill from your eyes as you search the area you are in. It’s dark and the only light you have are several candles flickering along the walls of this room; you feel your irritated eyes trying to adjust to the light difference but your fear is preventing you from functioning properly.

 

You don’t get far in the room that seems to keep extending into a void.

 

“I can smell you…,” that voice that changes in pitch within the same sentence assaults your ears. If your fear could be cleaned away with bleach you would douse yourself in it. Before you know it, you are pinned against a cold wall and a vice-like grip is suddenly on your face, causing your jaw to drop, leaving your mouth exposed. A deep and sinister chuckle greets your ears, causing hot tears to stream down your dirt-covered cheeks. Those tears begin to collect at your chin but before they drip to the floor beneath you, you feel an ice-cold and wet sensation upon your flesh. Bloodshot eyes snap open and you gain enough courage to look down your nose to witness this creature lapping up your scolding tears.

 

“Drip drip!” He giggles with malevolence woven into the noise. “Delicious! Just like salty popcorn,” he remarks in a sing-song voice before he pulls away and looks at you with gleaming amber eyes and a Cheshire grin upon his pale face. You remain as still as a statue against the wall that keeps you from safety and you begin to wonder if this is the end.

 

‘Is this how I die?’ Your mind asks as your body trembles. This clown...this _freak_ stands before you with that same creepy smile upon his face. You aren’t sure which is scarier: the fact he looks more human or the fact he looks more monster. He takes a step closer but you do not flinch; instead you remain statuesque, as if his sight is dependent on motion. His hand juts out and grabs your throat with such speed you don’t have time to react. You merely gasp in surprise and grapple at his wrist in a pathetic attempt to get him to let go but it is futile. He lifts your body up with no effort, pinning you to the wall and giggles with glee. However, his grin twists into a sneer and that cheery laugh is no more. You suddenly miss the creepy childish behavior.

 

“Please,” you choke out and your body writhes with panic; your throat pleading for release and your lungs begging for oxygen. “P-p-please….,” your voice strains to be heard and you reach out a hand in an effort to thwart him off. The act makes the clown smirk once more and he slowly lowers you back down and relaxes his hold but keeps you pinned to the wall that offers you no solace.

 

You gasp for much needed air and ask what he wants with you. He tilts his head to the side, much like a dog would and his smirk grows in size as heaps of drool ooze from his parted lips. Your eyes catch sight of his uneven and jagged teeth, discolored from lack of hygienic practices, and your mind conjures images of him eating flesh. You nearly vomit but it does not come.

 

“What do **_I_** want? Silly girl! You make me laugh!” He lets out a loud chuckle that reverberates in an inhuman way. “Did you not come to ME?”

 

Your brows furrow in confusion until he says your name with a sort of intimacy that causes your blood to drain from you face. He repeats it before taking his gloved index finger and giving you a bop to the tip of your nose. You flinch with a small gasp no matter how innocent that act is.

 

“You came alllll the way from big ol’ Washington D.C. to find me, little miss copper…I figured you were a fan of my work!” At that he steps back a few feet and throws up his arms in a rallying manner. Suddenly thousands of papers begin to fall from above, littering the room. Your eyes try and follow each paper but there are too many. But once they settle upon the floor your heart drops: all missing people’s flyers, dating back to the 1800s. There are so many faces. Too many faces looking back at you. Kids, teens, adults. Oh, god, there are too many. The sheer amount of grief hits you like a freight train and your legs can no longer hold up your weight. You crumble to the ground, landing hard on your knees, caring little about the pain. With shaky hands, you reach out to collect a few but you have little time to examine them. You look up to see the clown kicking up the flyers as if they were autumn leaves, mocking the tragedy in your face. He lets about a high pitch chuckle before he rushes over to you in an inhuman speed. You fall back onto your rear and once more you find yourself pushed up against the wall with this… ** _thing_** atop you.


	9. Your Stop is Coming up...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you wish you never took this case? Do you wish you never joined the FBI? Do you wish...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned you! This chapter is here to enable you, haha. 
> 
> Thank you for all the great comments and kudos! You are a wonderful lot! <3 Comments keep me going!

“I’ve been a busy boy!” He laughs in sick delight before his voice changes to a 1920’s mobster accent. “Well, ya’ gonna arrest me, coppa’?” His grin tugs at his blood-stained lips and he leans into you to whisper in your ear. “Looks like ya’ forgot ya’ handcuffs, coppa. Whatcha gonna do now? You ain’t got bullets left…”

 

You feel helpless and useless without your gun. Your mind suddenly conjures up the image of your face plastered over the news with writing in red bold letters: FBI AGENT MISSING. A small cry escapes past your lips and you hear the clown giggle with pure glee. He then buries his face into your neck and drags sharp teeth along your smooth flesh, leaving bloody wakes in its path.

 

“Oh, how delicious you are,” his voice is low and raspy as if it’s made of rust and gravel. “Your **fear** is _exquisite_. Do you know why?”

 

You do not answer. You can’t. Silent tears stream down your face as you ignore the sensation of your warm blood flowing down your neck and over your collar bone into your exposed bosom. It easily stains your white collared shirt.

 

“Because,” he begins, slowly lapping up the blood from your neck; his icy tongue creates an odd sensation and your mind can’t handle the cognitive dissonance. “ _I. Broke. You…,”_ he whispers and inhales deeply before pulling away and grabbing your face in his gloved hands. Your eyes lock with his haunting gaze as he runs his thumbs over your lips and cheeks. “You were so tough…so strong…you were a challenge…,” his grin grows and blood-stained drool exudes past his teeth and down his lips. “You almost won the prize, copper. But alas!” He threw one hand up high, pointing to the ceiling. “You put your faith in a God who does not exist.” A dark chuckle causes his body to shake before he brings his hand back to cup your face. “But I exist, my sweet Blue Blood. No matter how many times you cry out that I don’t.”

 

At that he brings his face close to yours, his nostrils flaring as he inhales all that you are. His grin grows into an unnatural shape; more thick drool seeping past his pointed teeth. You feel your lower lip trembling to the sight but it is soon stopped by the clowns next actions. He pulls your face into his, slamming ice-cold lips against yours in a stolen, fierce kiss. (If it could even be called that.) Your neck strains as you try to pull away but he is sure to keep your lips against his; the copper tinge from his blood-mixed drool easily transferring to your lips. The chilled sensation confuses your senses and you whimper pitifully, trying so hard to wrench away from his grasp.

 

Pennywise grins into his horrid kiss while he applies pressure with his hand upon your jaw until your mouth opens unwillingly. A giggle rumbles in his chest while his tongue slips into your now gaping mouth, uninvited and unwelcome. His tongue is abnormally long and you squirm as it explores the roof of your mouth, the cracks between your teeth, and tries dancing with your own tongue. It feels like an iced tentacle and you gag as his tongue grows in length and attempts to push down into your throat. He retracts the appendage and instead sucks your tongue into his mouth next.

 

“Mmmm,” an out of place moan escapes his body and continues his disgusting action all the while you struggle against his hold. You can feel his slobber flow down your chin and neck; it’s thick and gelatinous, dyed red with the blood from your neck. He’s consuming you any way he can and your fear the escalation that will lead to your inevitable death.

 

He finally pulls away and you gasp for much needed air; thick strands of saliva connect you two even after you gasped. Pennywise examines you for a moment, admiring how you look covered in his drool mixed with your blood. He giggles like a school boy who was admiring a classmate. “I like the way you taste. But…,” his Cheshire grin tugs at his swollen lips and those glowing amber eyes flash with sinister intent as they inspect your body. “I wonder how you taste,” he pauses and drags his dominate hand between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, and roughly cups your cunt. “Right here.” His head tilts to the side and that damned creepy giggle leaves his body when you let out a pitiful cry.

 

“Please…please don’t,” your voice is but a whisper, your eyes watch him unbutton your pants with his gloved hands; his long fingers positioned like he was threading a needle.

 

“Don’t what?” He locks eyes with you and that ominous glow is still prevalent. “Don’t play with my food before I eat it?” His fingers stop once the button and fly are undone with your black panties revealed. Another childish giggle is heard as he sneaks a peak to see lovely bush that protects your sex. Pennywise wiggles with anticipation, remarking how excited he is for his prize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note:  
> I figure Pennywise has no semblance of warmth because he is not from this world. I view him being the farthest thing from a human and what makes a human, human? We are warm blooded. I wanted to severe anything that could make him remotely close to us therefore his flesh is ice cold.


	10. Don't Miss Your Stop...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When will this end? Will you survive? How much can you take?  
> The FBI did not train you for this....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, boy. Buckle up, kiddos! It's gonna get weird!
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the comments! They mean a lot to me! :) <3  
> (Uhmmmm there are probably typos, so I apologize in advance and will fix them tomorrow before class!)

_You're just going to give up like that? You are stronger than this, [y/n]...You can do this.'_

 

 

 

Suddenly you dive into your courage reserves and you utilize all that you have learned from the Academy. You take the opportunity and with all your might you kick out both of your legs, your shoes contacting his chest where he stumbles back with a low growl. You waste no time getting up and you run in whatever direction you can.

 

Your footsteps are echoing against the stone walls, reminding you of days when you were younger and played in drain tunnels with your friends. When you start to hear the splashing of water with each stride you take, it is exactly where you are. That means there must be an exit somewhere.

 

There is a small shimmer of hope ahead: a glow of warm light in the distance that provides you sight. Your stamina proves to be in working order as your pick up your pace and you are sprinting towards the light at the end of the tunnel. (The mocking metaphor licks at the back of your mind but you shake it away.) It feels like fire in your lungs and your muscles strain to keep you going but you persist. The pain your body feels is nothing compared to the fear that pumps through your veins. It was true: fear was an awfully big motivator.

 

The light is getting brighter as you near the exit and for a moment you are tricked into believing it led you outside. The moment you break through the threshold you heart sinks to the sight. It’s a large opened area made of concrete and iron. Your chest is heaving up and down as you try and catch your breath while your bloodshot eyes take in the sight before you. A mountain of debris. It looks like anything a flood could fit in a storm drain but there are large items that look like they were dumped in this location.

 

 _“We all float down here…,”_ the whisper greets your ear from behind. You have no time to react. Pennywise grabs you from behind, wrapping one arm around yours, pinning them to your body while his other arm snakes around and grabs your jaw. He breaths against your ear, his tongue running along the cuts on your neck before he forces your head up. “Open your eyes, Agent! Look at my work.”

 

You know not to but his grip upon your face grows increasingly more painful and you succumb.

 

“Oh, God….,” your eyes fill up with fresh tears but they are of grief instead of fear. Hundreds of bodies are suspended in time above the garbage heap. There are so many…You heart is breaking to the sight and you hear the clown scoff.

 

He growls as he presses his nose into your neck, sniffing hard. He is angry. Why? Agitated noises leave his mouth and he throws you to the concrete floor with great force where your body splashes in the grimy water. You gasp and wipe away the filth from your face along with your wet hair that clings to your cheeks. When you look up you see how angry he truly is: his eyes are deep red and his teeth are now crowded fangs.

 

He reaches down and grabs a fistful of hair, dragging you through the disgusting water. You instantly wrap your hands around his wrist to prevent more damage and no matter how much you kick in protest he has no trouble dragging you closer to the trash heap. He bends down at you, yanking your head back so he can bring his face to yours.

 

“This is your fate, Blue Blood. Any last words?” Thick saliva seeps from his clenched jaw as he seethes above you. 

 

Unfortunately, your heartbreak is replaced by fear again and you notice his eyes fade into that orange once more and a slow grin returns to his pale face. There is no way to know that your grief was your shield and your empathy was your sword. There is no way you could know that fear is his arsenal. Pennywise could eat you now but you lost your marinade and he wants his food to taste perfect. Nothing a little more cruelty couldn’t fix.

 

You look up at him, ignoring the pain on your scalp and in your neck, and turn your fear ridden face into complete contempt. Your eyes lock on his and take this opportunity to spit in his face followed by a solid “Fuck. You.”

 

The clown’s smirk transforms into a sneer as your own saliva slides down his face and you see him begin to slowly shake his head and a low chuckle rattles in his chest.

 

“Poor choice of words.” He then drags you by your hair a few more feet through the stagnant water until he swoops you up in his arms and jumps onto a centuries old wooden stage, tossing you like a bag of trash where you winch in pain to the impact. The clown stares down at you with a predatory gaze and it reignites a fear you have not felt since you were young. Instinctually, you begin scooting away from his ascending form but you do not get far.

 

With every step he takes, his grin grows upon his face and whatever lurks between his legs is beginning to show. His tongue pushes up against the roof of his mouth before it clicks loudly and that gloved hand drags down the middle of his stomach and roughly grabs a handful of genitalia . Pennywise chuckles to his own masculine antics; one hand still upon his increasingly hardening manhood while the other wipes away your spit with four fingers and drags them into his mouth where he sucks them clean.

 

Your fear is becoming palpable once more and you assume the worst thing that can happen to a woman is about to happen to you. A sharp gasp leaves your body when the set behind you suddenly roars to life, illuminating the stage and room with fake flames of red and orange, accompanied with an unnerving organ that plays an old-time tune that matches the décor.

 

“Setting the mood for you my little Blue Blood…,” he remarks in a deep, low tone as long and nimble fingers begin to work at his pants. You try and fight the tears that begin to coat your once bright eyes but as the fear grows from within you wonder if they will help you weather the storm that is about ravage you with no mercy.

 


	11. Wrong Way on a One Way Track...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You caught the bad men and women of this world; you saved countless of lives but you never thought you would be the one in need of saving. You never thought you would be a victim...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! You are all amazing, so thank you for your patience and loyalty! You are the best!!<3 
> 
> This chapter is NSFW: from this point on it is going to be graphic and there will be noncon and such.

A demonic laugh assaults your ears as he drops to his hands and knees, crawling towards you like a deranged beast whose primal hunger motivates his every move. You watch as his fingers split through those white gloves to reveal darkened appendages that end in sharp claws. A sardonic laugh leaves his body when he grasps your ankles and pulls your body to him with one swift move. The screams that tear through your throat are unrecognizable; you have never experienced this type of fear before and so you kick and flail but the clown is stronger.

 

“Get the fuck off me,” you cry out in both terror and desperation as tears steam down your face and the only response you get in return is an unnerving laugh that turns into a bestial growl. Pennywise crawls atop and straddles you, pining your wrists together above your head to keep you immobile. He looks down at you with a fiendish mirth that tugs on his red lips and he grabs you by the face with his free hand. His vice like grip upon your jaw hurts and the tips of his claws puncture into you soft flesh, causing warm blood to run down your ears and neck, seeping into your hair. You can’t handle to look at those wild eyes aglow and so you try your hardest to look away but he keeps your head stationary with his grip. Quickly, you shut your eyes when thick gobs of his slobber fall from his mouth and onto your face.

 

Pennywise stares down at your struggling form and thrives off such a sight. The hand upon your face morphs back into a normal form as he smears his drool over your lips and cheeks, blending it in with your own blood. His mouth gapes open to reveal sharp teeth painted with glistening saliva and your blood, and the grin he gives is entirely unsettling. The hand upon your face continues to knead at your flesh until he runs his thumb along your lower lip before it slips into your mouth. Pennywise appears to be in a slight trance as he watches his long fingers toy with your mouth and he giggles madly when you gag with his fingers prodding the back of your throat.

 

The clown retracts his fingers and puts them in his mouth, wiggling with delight to the taste, a giggle of glee rolling up his chest as he cleans your saliva off. His body is heavy upon your small frame and every time you squirm you can feel something hard poking into your lower abdomen. You aren’t sure how he does it but your wrists are bound together by an itchy rope and it is attached to the wooden floor beneath you; this leaves the clown with two free hands and you completely helpless.

 

Pennywise allows his tongue to slither out and run along his lips as he shimmies down to rest his weight upon your thighs, proclaiming his hunger is soon to be satiated. He then takes his clawed hand, running his index finger down your shirt where it begins to rip apart with each inch only to tear through your bra too. Your brows knit together to the sudden exposure and your inability to cover your breasts. A noise of approval slips past his red lips and he salivates some more.

 

A pitiful whimper escapes your body as you strain against the rope with all your might as he moves to your pants. Your pathetic whimpers turn into desperation when you feel him yanking your jeans down, stating the hatred he has towards the modern woman and their attire.

 

“You liberated bitches make everything more difficult,” he hisses and with one last yank and a few slashes of his claws and your pants are now destroyed. “Much easier to eat my prey when they wore dresses,” he adds and has no problem ripping off your black underwear, causing you to gasp and strain beneath him. You feel entirely exposed and humiliated. It’s exactly what he wants. He can feel your legs trying to cross to protect your sex but its impossible with his weight upon yours.

 

You are now completely exposed to this _thing_ , this **beast** , this rabid **_monster_** and your body reacts to the damp and cool air with goosebumps littering your skin. The frigid air kisses your soft flesh but offers no solace to your fear-ridden mind, body, and soul, but instead dances along your exposed breasts and your nipples grow hard without your consent. This doesn’t go unnoticed by the manic clown and his eyes widen with delight and he wastes no time tapping every finger on each firm nipple, proclaiming how much fun he is having at your expense.

 

“You wiggle like a little worm, Blue Blood! Wiggle! Wiggle! Wiggle!” He giggles as he mimics your squirming body beneath him; drool clinging to his chin as it continues to seep from his mouth. “And the early bird gets the worm…,” his tone shifts from playful to grave, his smile disappearing, and his amber eyes burn with a sinister and primeval fire that cuts through your psyche; you begin to truly think you will not make it out alive.


	12. Runaway Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will you survive the storm? Is this how it all ends?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY FOR THE LONG DELAY. Being a Grad student and Pennywise trash is time consuming. Bring out the popcorn and enjoy! 
> 
>  
> 
> p.s.  
> Thank you all for the comments, kudos, and bookmarks! :)

"Please! Please don’t. Please,” you begin to beg and the tears are welling up, blurring your vision as if they could shield you from this horror that is happening. You feel the skin on your wrists have begun to rub raw with every tug you give to the rope but you continue anyway. Your body demands you don’t stop fighting but the more you struggle the more this clown gets off the fear you are immolating.

 

Pennywise lowers his body atop yours as his gloved hands run up your torso, dragging his fingers tips along each rib until they travel over your exposed breasts and wrap around your neck. He brings his salivating lips to your ear and whispers, _“Would it make it easier if I did this….”_ He then slowly lifts his head and he has transformed into your boss. Your mind and heart have a quick battle and seeing your boss lay atop your naked form only causes your heartstrings to strain with the terrible association.

 

The laugh that leaves the mirrored image of the man you love causes your mind great dissonance and you cry out in vain. Pennywise keeps his mocking form and captures your lips with his, stealing a kiss that was never meant for him. When he pulls away he brings a hand to smear away your tears that flow so freely from your eyes. 

 

“Isn’t this what you want, Agent? Isn’t this what you _longed_ for? Nights you spent touching yourself to thoughts of **_him_ ** fucking you?” The word sounds desecrated coming from the impostor; you can feel that your mind is beginning to deteriorate with the trauma it is enduring. His free hand travels down to delve between your legs and you feel clothed, cold fingers playing with your folds until they begin prodding your entrance in a slow manner. You let out a strained scream, trying vigorously to close your thighs to thwart his wandering hand but it’s useless.

 

“This is what you wanted, _darling_ ,” the voice of your boss cuts through you as the clown’s fingers delve as deep as they can inside your hot sex. “You want me to fuck you like I do my wife.” Your brain strains to dissociate; you know this is not the man you love but your mind pleads for you to believe the falsehoods in order to protect yourself. His smell, his voice, his touch, everything is telling you this is the man you love. You wonder for a brief moment if your mind it trying to shield itself to keep your sanity intact.

 

“You’re not him,” fractured words spill from your mouth and this causes Pennywise to morph back into his hellish clown form and laugh at your humiliation, your pity, your embarrassment, your torment. His head tilts to the side, a brow arching high that tugs on the corner of his lips into a twisted smile.

 

When he retracts his hand from your opening he brings his hand to his face where he inspects the clear substance that drenches the white cloth; his crooked smile doesn’t falter one bit. He locks his glowing eyes on yours and an abnormally long tongue slips out to clean his fingers.

 

“I’d say you are enjoying this, Copper.” His nostrils flare as he takes in your scent and you curse your body for betraying you. "Mmm! Delicious!" He remarks with an out-of-place giggle and a fiendish smirk. "Hmmm," he begins. "One," his index finger pops up. "Two," the middle follows. "Three!" His ring finger joins the other two. "Four?" His pinky finger then slowly unfurls it to meet the others before delving them back between your legs. Pennywise gives you no time to react and before you know it, this demon clown wiggles those four fingers against your folds and roughly inserts them deep inside you.

 

You instinctively winch to the sudden force; it is not that this monster is now finger fucking you that makes you cry out but the fact that you are entirely wet with each thrust of his hand. Why is your body betraying you this way? Why does this feel....almost...good? A new emotion you have not felt begins to manifest, crawling from the dark corners of your mind and bleeds into your fear. It's....it's...it's...

 

_**Shame**..._

_It coats your psyche. It's seeds are now sowed._

 

 

Pennywise keeps his amber eyes aglow on your face and they grow wider and wider with each time his fingers enter and leave your wet sex in a rhythmic fashion. He enjoys the warmth your cunt offers his cold fingers and he can only imagine what it will provide for whatever lies between his legs; it is already extremely hard, pressing against his pants and you feel it digging into you. The clown lets out a victorious chuckle, knowing he will gorge on everything you can offer: your fear, your blood, your flesh, you tears, your sweat, and your sex. Oh, yes, Pennywise the Dancing Clown will feast upon all that is you.

 

His gluttony will know no bounds and you will know no justice. Your eyes are tightly closed as his fingers continue to work on your sex but they slowly open when you feel his actions seize. For a false moment you think he is through but the worst has yet to come. With one of his hands now covered with your moisture, the clown impatiently tears away at his pants to release his throbbing...

 

You look away in utter fear; fear of the unknown. Does this _thing_ have a...cock? The thought causes your stomach to do flips and he laughs to the pathetic attempt you are making to tear yourself mentally and emotional from what is about to happen. Whatever he may have between his legs you know you are now going to be defiled and degraded, feelings that were so foreign you believed being raped would happen to you.

 

Ugly sobs begin to leave your body and you begin to flail even more beneath Pennywise, who is nearly done releasing his throbbing, hard, and wet beasthood. You are not ready for this siege upon your body. 

 

 

_Oh, Lord, please....please don't let this happen to me..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the typos. :/


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